Respond
by Masochistic Monkey
Summary: Inspired by Revengent's 'Morse Code'. A collection of oneshots, moments in the life of the forgotten duckling.
1. Home

Because there's not enough stories about Kutner, and his character is so underdeveloped.  
Inspired reading Revengent's 'Morse Code'... imagine calling for help and having nobody to read the signs.

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Kutner liked his apartment.

It was messy, undecorated – a true bachelor pad, only full of life. He had a couple of sad looking posters in one corner of the room he had stuck up in one of his cleaning frenzies. Otherwise, it was the same furniture he had inherited from his new parents when he had moved out.

It wasn't that he didn't like change – it was just the monotony of life, time, slipping away from him that prevented him from picking up a catalogue and renovating. But as it was, with the windows open, the lights on, a comfy couch, clean air and a constant sweet aroma that had no source, it was Kutner's perfect environment.

He always went home to an empty house at night. It used to scare him slightly, walking into a dark house alone. He remembered things he tried very hard to forget in the dark.  
But now he left the light on – his new salary paid the electricity bills much better than his old.

As long as he didn't look too hard out into the dark night, or think too deeply, he was safe from fear.

He never forgot to lock the door.

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Reviews welcome! ~LH


	2. Help

_

* * *

__Help_.

Kunter knew nobody was listening.

Grasping his wrist tightly against his side, knuckles white, he took blow after blow, flinching as House debunked his theories, one by one.

He was a person who thrived off praise, one of the ones who would quietly grin whenever a teacher noticed him, appreciated he was there.

He was also a person used to being kicked into a corner, used to letting insults and disappointment slide off him like water on oil, able to bounce back from rejection. All with the solid thread of hope for that day when House would say, "Nice work.".

When he was around Taub, he would brush his job off as thankless, but he wouldn't deny that he liked House, and he liked his job. He had always liked his teachers.

But it always seemed to come down to this. House was leaving now, limping away angrily, ordering Thirteen to clean up Kutner's mess. Thirteen shot Kutner a look of reproach, and Kutner gripped his wrist harder still, painfully hard.

He wanted to start after House, to apologise, to come up with the theory that would cure the patient and alleviate House's irritation. He wanted to beg.

But he knew that House wouldn't act like he cared, but would leave Kutner on the floor, make him get up by himself, to make him a better doctor and a stronger person.

Or, if he was a hopeless case, House would fire him. Kutner didn't want to live with that rejection.

Thirteen moved by him, cold as stone, smooth as liquid. Pain flickered in Kutner's eyes. Had she always been so cold?

Sometimes, it had almost seemed as though they were friends – but there was some kind of barrier there, something he couldn't see.

Foreman and Thirteen went together – they both had barriers that neither of them tried to cross. It was love, but shallow, and neither of them wanted to break into that depth. Better for each other to live in ignorance.

But Kutner had always had a habit of breaking barriers. People would confide in him, and walk away with open souls. Some people couldn't deal with that kind of intimacy. Thirteen was clearly one of them.

At one point, months ago, before she found Foreman, she had been so close to breaking point. Kutner couldn't deny he had been waiting. He knew she would confide in him, and hoped against hope that she would stay with him.

But she went to Foreman, and rebuilt herself until she was like stone. Every time she passed him, her skin would drag off a little more of his soul, until it was red raw and bleeding.

It was more of a rejection than Amber had been, than anyone else had ever been before.

Kutner groaned and released his wrist. He was stiff – he didn't know how long he had been standing for. His hand was white and bloodless, and the pain lingered like an ache.

He looked out through the glass doors to Taub, leaning against a wall and looking heartbroken. Kutner felt his compassion drawing him like a hidden force. He knew nothing he could say would make it better, but it would be a distraction at least – for both of them.

* * *

Reviews Welcome! ~LH


	3. Break

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"I need you to run these tests." House looked sharply at Kutner. His eyes flickered to the clock – 7:00pm, and he bit his lip nervously.

"House, I've been here for 24 hours." Kutner grasped his hands together in a silent plea. House scrutinised him briefly.

"You shouldn't pass out for another four with the amount of coffee you're been ingesting." Kutner sighed heavily. He knew the reason House had practically locked him inside for the past fourteen hours, from when he's tried to leave at dawn. It had nothing to do with the patient deteriorating, with medical tests. It was, however, a _test_, and Kutner knew he was playing directly into House's plan.

"No, House. I really need to go." House raised his eyebrows.

"Do you have something planned?" Kutner frowned, his left hand closing around his right wrist. _Help_.

"Actually, I was going to visit my parents… it's their anniversary today."

"I'm guessing… not their _wedding_ anniversary." Kutner tilted his head to the side, trying to look impassive.

"It's kind of my tradition. I visit them on this day every year."

"Out of what, respect for the dead? They can't know you're there. Is this some kind of stupid superstition I don't know about?" Kutner breathed slowly in the silence. House couldn't possibly find another reason to keep him here. He was done analysing Kutner's mourning by now.

"Why are you still here?" Kutner glanced up hopefully. He could go? He turned to leave. "Wait." House threw a file with alarming accuracy. Kutner fumbled for it. It fell to the floor with a dull _thud_. "You have tests to do. Do them."

Kutner's optimism drained away. He looked House in the eye, aghast.

"Please let me go and visit my parents."

"Your parents are dead. Our patient isn't… yet."

"You have three other doctors. This is something I have to do."

"Leave, and you're fired."

There it was. The crux of the matter. Kutner recoiled, paling. He really did mean nothing to House. He really was useless. Why else would House fire him so easily? His hand found his wrist again and gripped tightly, fingernails breaking the skin. House examined him sternly, taking in the panic, the despair, and the blood slowly dripping from Kutner's wrist.

Finally Kutner's shoulders slumped. Numbly, he picked up the folder, and left wearily. House watched him go without smiling. He'd cracked another of his employees. He knew if he pushed Kutner's buttons long enough, something deeper would be revealed.

With a sigh, House swivelled back to the window, watching the rain fall. A sliver of worry entered his contemplation. He hoped suddenly that in cracking Kutner, he hadn't _broken_ him.

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Reviews Welcome! ~LH


	4. Speak

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In Kutner's head, he had made up a little language.

He liked to pretend when he was bored or feeling lonely that people were signalling him somehow – a tap on the cheek meant one thing, touching the left earlobe meant another. He called it 'body language' and sometimes dreamed it was real, that people did notice he was there, that people were coming to help him.

It was all part of the random observations he made - like figuring out that Thirteen and Foreman were still dating. He had a knack for observing things he probably shouldn't notice. Thanks to House, the subtle, but useless observations were becoming sharper, more profound.

Kutner can tell it's a cool, crisp autumn day, even enclosed in sanitised hospital air. He knows – and is not surprised - that Thirteen and Foreman have decided to make the most of the change in atmosphere by making out in storage. He saw signs between them, heard it in their voices.

Kutner pretended not to notice them when he went to pick up a box of tongue depressants for the clinic – they froze as the door opened, thankfully concealing them amidst the shelves of equipment. But it was satisfying to note that he had been right about that, at least.

The rest of the time, he is wrong.

Taub's eyes flicker in a way that Kutner knows means he has something to confide, but when he asks, Taub turns him down, and goes to Wilson instead.

An edge to House's voice hints at extra pain, but there's nothing Kutner can do to help besides give Cuddy an excuse to visit him.

Kutner sees the dark side of reading body language – it's never meant for him. He is always an outsider, always an observer of human interaction, and never a key element of it.

He was born and raised as different, then re-raised to blend in. Now, he wasn't sure he ever would.

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Reviews Welcome! ~LH


	5. Hope

Kutner wasn't sure how he found himself standing at the end of Thirteen's hospital bed again.

He hadn't slept the night before. Cuddy had sent House's team home, had said nothing about Thirteen's condition. He already knew that it had to be her liver. He wondered if, like Amber, her body would give up on her. She'd pushed it far enough as it was.

So, it was a relief to get to work – albeit more than three hours early – and find out that she was safe. Going quietly into the room and checking the monitors had provided some sort of satisfaction, some sort of relief, as if he had carried the burden of her illness throughout the night. It even gave him the chance to squeeze in a couple of hours of sleep before House hit him on the head with his cane.

The clinic had never been more stressful. Normally Kutner was almost glad of the clinic – working off House's hours kept him happy, and provided opportunity to meet and solve the problems of a couple of dozen new people, under the guise of the famous Dr House.

But today the clinic was filled only with a couple of police officers, those who didn't hear about 'the hostage crisis', and a couple of creepy spectators who wanted to see blood. It was full enough to keep Kutner busy, but empty enough to keep him thinking about what happened. What could have happened. How useless he had been.

It also kept him paranoid, watching people's hands and coat pockets. His imagination had always run ahead of him, and only a quick trip to Thirteen's room in his break had reminded him that she was real, she was still okay.

On the way back to the clinic he stopped, the sound of sobbing echoing through the near-empty corridor. Kutner slowed down, pacing to the end of the hall until he saw a woman crying in the arms of a nurse.

"It's okay, girl. You're okay. It's all over now."  
"I-it was the s-scariest... thing of my eh-entire... life..." The nurse held a hanky for her friend. She blew her nose, tears dribbling down her chin. Kutner knew he had stumbled upon something private. He took an uncomfortable step back.  
"B-but he was right, damn him. Doctor House. H-he knew I couldn't do it. I tried, I s-said, 'Shoot me', but when that g-gun came round, I j-just couldn't – I panicked, I-" her friend enveloped her in a hug.  
"You shouldn't have come to work today. Let me drive you home." The woman nodded tearfully into the nurse's shoulder. Kutner slipped away quietly, biting his lip. His mind and feet had wandered since then.

And he found himself here. In Thirteen's room, looking down at her still, sickly pale form, surrounded by humming white plastic. He suddenly felt uncomfortable, almost as much as in the hall. There was no reason for him to be here. She wasn't even awake. It was almost stalker-ish, standing there watching her sleeping obliviously.

Kutner had just turned to leave when Thirteen's eyes flickered open. "Kutner?" she whispered. He spun guiltily, wringing his hands, then with one swift move strode to her bedside and knelt there.  
"Hey," he said. "Sorry, I was just checking if you were awake." Thirteen looked puzzled. Kutner swallowed. "Well, um, I thought you might be bored actually. I could bring in a movie for you- there's, um, nothing good on TV at the moment..." he gestured widely in the direction of the TV.

In a sudden, surprising movement, Thirteen smiled at him. Kutner's mouth dropped open in surprise.  
"Thanks, Kutner. That would be great."

His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Did they put you on morphine?" Thirteen shook her head, laughing softly.  
"No..." she breathed, and let herself drift off to sleep again.

It took Kutner another ten minutes to stand up, dazed and confused, still dazzled by her smile. He shuffled back to the clinic, in his mind possibilities he had long ago left behind, mingling with curiosity.

The next day, Kutner returned, a DVD making a square projection in the pocket of his lab coat. Excitement building, he picks up the pace, striding towards Thirteen's room.

As he nears the door, he hears laughter, and slows, frowning. Peering through the glass, he sees Thirteen and Foreman, together, content.

With a sad smile, he places the DVD on the coffee table outside her room, and walks away alone.


End file.
